


Briefly

by Acacia Carter (xaandria)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-13
Updated: 2012-10-03
Packaged: 2017-10-29 10:42:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 1,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xaandria/pseuds/Acacia%20Carter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles, as they occur. Most, if not all of them, contain Neville being snarky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Notches

The sun streamed in through the domed skylights of Neville’s office. An early summer breeze teased the stacks of parchment on his desk and he absently placed a paperweight on them to keep them fluttering away, looking up to see who had opened the door.  
  
“Miss Daniels,” he said, bowing his head to her. “Congratulations. Seven N.E.W.T.s is a great accomplishment.”  
  
“I suppose,” she said, and Neville knew her tone all too well. He raised one eyebrow as she deliberately undid the clasp of her school robe and let it fall to the ground, revealing a thin cotton camisole and a skirt that left nothing to the imagination. “I’m not your student anymore, Neville,” she continued, and he could tell it gave her an immeasurable thrill to use his first name.  
  
He sat down behind his desk. “Maybe not, but I’m still married,” he reminded her gently.  
  
She sat down on the corner of the desk, her bare foot nudging playfully at his knee. “She doesn’t have to know, does she?”  
  
A crooked smile quirked Neville’s lips. “Miss Daniels, what on earth makes you think that I’m married to a woman?”  
  
He was surprised that she did not fall off the desk. Face burning, she stammered incoherently as she gathered her robe, then left his office without even a backward glance.  
  
Neville smirked. He held up his wand, closed one eye for better aim, and marked another notch on the side of his bookcase.


	2. Chirping

It was raining. The Slytherins and Ravenclaws were adjusting hoods and securing book bags in preparation for the trek back to their dormitories. They began filing out of the greenhouse, but a hand landed on Jameson’s shoulder.

“Not so fast, Mr Fox. My office.”

Jameson suppressed a groan.

Professor Longbottom’s office was not tidy, but neither was it messy. The professor sank into the chair behind his desk and gestured at the chair before it.

Jameson sat.

They both waited.

Rain tapped at the skylight in the ceiling.

They both waited.

The chirping began, a high keening that made one’s ears throb and eyes tear. Jameson kept his face perfectly blank.

“If you would kindly undo that charm, Mr Fox, I will refrain from setting you detention during this weekend’s Quidditch match,” Professor Longbottom said evenly.

Jameson looked innocently at the professor. The professor raised an eyebrow. The chirping continued.

Professor Longbottom sighed, lowering his face into his palm. “If I admit you win this round, will you just make it stop?”

Jameson smirked and drew his wand, whispering an incantation as he swept it to encompass every corner of the ceiling.

The chirping ceased. Professor Longbottom let out a long exhalation of relief.

“How did you know it was me, sir?” Jameson asked as he stowed his wand away.

“It changed where it seemed to be coming from every Tuesday and Thursday at exactly the time you would be passing my office,” Professor Longbottom replied. “That, and no other student has proven to be so devoted to making my life hell.”

Jameson grinned cheekily. Professor Longbottom laughed.

“You may go. As a completely unrelated aside, I have a friend who is very interested in speaking with you. Something about an infuriatingly annoying charm you have apparently invented that even he couldn’t dispel. His name is George Weasley.”


	3. Eyebrows

No student wanted to stand judgment before Professor Longbottom’s eyebrows.

The tiny Gryffindor standing in front of the professor stammered as one eyebrow slowly ascended. “...And then it started raining...”

Professor Longbottom turned and took down a set of brass scales from a greenhouse shelf. He began meticulously adding and subtracting miniscule weights from one side, brows furrowed in comical intensity.

“And so my ink ran -”

“Shhh,” Professor Longbottom held up a finger, eyes glued to the scales. “I’m measuring out exactly how much I care about your excuse.” The class tittered nervously. “I’m afraid it doesn’t bode well.”


	4. Fears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This particular drabble was prompted over at MuggleNet FanFiction for a competition. Proud to say it won second place.

The Potions corridor was not dark, dank, or clammy, or at least not any darker, danker, or clammier than any of the other windowless corridors in the castle. Still, Neville’s mind helpfully offered echoing dripping sounds and the distant rattle of chains appropriate to a dungeon. He stepped into the exact centre of the flagstone next to the wall - the one with the corner gouged away - and leaned against the cold stones with the fire of the torch sputtering in its sconce just above him and to the right. The ritual normally calmed him: _his_ stone, _his_ spot on the wall, the same way it had been for four years. The Slytherins ignored him there and the other Gryffindors usually didn’t even notice him.  
  
Today, however, no mere ritual was going to do much to quell the pounding of his heart. Closer to the door of the classroom, he could hear Harry, Ron, and Hermione musing bitterly about what difficult potion Snape would set them today, after two months of being on holiday. Neville’s stomach gave a sour kick at the mere mention of Snape’s name.  
  
Maybe no one would notice if he sank into the shadows until they all went into the dungeon, and he could run away. Back to the dormitory, or maybe the hospital wing - he could say he had an upset stomach and needed a lie-down.   
  
_Coward_ , he chided himself, but he very nearly did run away when the creaking of the classroom door announced the top of the hour and the beginning of the lesson. Swallowing hard, Neville joined the queue of students filing into the classroom, his heart beating a dizzying staccato against his ribs.  
  
He was here. He’d got this far, and getting this far was the hardest part.  
  
And suddenly, in the way that only Professor Snape could, he was standing in front of the silent classroom. Neville held his breath as Snape began to speak to them all about the importance of their OWLs. He was convinced that his blood had been replaced with ice water the instant Snape had begun his address.  
  
“I expect you to scrape an ‘Acceptable’ in your OWL, or suffer my... displeasure.”*  
  
Snape locked eyes with Neville as he sneered these last few words. Neville froze in Snape’s gaze, too terrified to do anything but gulp. He was trapped. He could not tear his eyes away from Snape’s, whose lip curled nearly imperceptibly before returning his scrutiny to the rest of the classroom as he continued his speech.  
  
It was over. First contact of the year had been accomplished, and Neville was still alive. He wiped the cold sweat from the back of his neck and decided to consider this a win.


	5. Flowers

The cemetery smelled of mown lawn, freshly turned earth, and the sharp, chalky scent of a new marble headstone. This last was barely noticable, and would not have been noticed at all, if he had not known it was there.

He had never really known her. Now he never would.

He knelt for a moment, placing his offering by the headstone, and left hurriedly, as though trying to escape. Maybe he was.

Among the white and blush and red of roses and lilies already left, the colourful paper flowers lay incongruously, the blue letters spelling “Drooble’s” disappearing in the folds.


	6. Lamplight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday, Neville. I reckon I should let you be happy sometimes.

Her hair glistened damply in the lamplight, tumbling in unruly waves to her shoulders. One hand was lifted to her earlobe and she tugged at it absently, as she always did when she was reading.    
  
Stars above, she stirred something in him, something too large to contain with a simple word like "love".   
  
She looked up and smiled at him as he slipped into the bed next to her, hand abandoning its study of her ear to reach out and squeeze his.   
  
He returned the smile and looked seriously into her eyes. "Hannah, will you marry me?"  
  
She laughed. "Neville, we've been married five years."  
  
"I know. But would you do it again?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
He leaned over and her lips caught at his in a light, playful kiss as she tossed her book to the bedside table. With a wave of his hand the lamp dimmed to the tiniest flickering ember, leaving them to explore one another in the way that only those very much in love do. 


	7. Office Hours

She was no longer the vivacious brunette who had eagerly taken her place in the front row five months before. She had dark circles under her eyes and her hair hung limply in a plait that had lost much of its sheen. Her back was straight, however, and she sat attentively in front of his desk as he pulled a sheet of parchment from the pile next to him.  
  
"I think you already know why I requested this meeting," Professor Longbottom said. His tone was carefully unaccusing.  
  
"I'm sorry, Professor," she said, her eyes shining with the threat of tears. "I - it's just -"  
  
Professor Longbottom held out a hand to stop her. "Miss Lowell. Nina. I understand. N.E.W.T. Herbology contains some highly advanced subject matter that is difficult for some students to grasp. It's not for everyone."  
  
"But I wanted to!" Nina burst out. "And - and I know that if your students don't do well, they don't let you come back, and this was your first year teaching N.E.W.T.s -"  
  
"That's true, to a point," Professor Longbottom admitted. "But I'm not worried about your marks. I'm more worried about you."  
  
Nina blinked in surprise. "I'm sorry?"  
  
"You're clearly not getting enough sleep. You don't eat well, and you hardly spend any time with your friends. Your marks in your other subjects are fine, so it isn't difficult to deduce where the problem is." Professor Longbottom gave her a small, gentle smile in response to her guilty shift in her chair. "I know my lessons are challenging - they're meant to be - but I don't intend you to work yourself to death over them."   
  
He flattened the parchment on the desk in front of him. "I think I've worked out your main problem. Do you have an hour a week that you could spare for a month? If I reintroduce some of the basic concepts that you're lacking, you might find that the rest of the homework and the reading will be much easier to process."   
  
Brow wrinkling in disbelief, Nina pushed up her glasses with one finger. "You'd - do that?"  
  
"You're my student, Miss Lowell. I want you to leave this school with the knowledge I have to give you. That's not just my job, it's my goal." He pushed the parchment toward her. "Those are the chapters I'd like you to reread. Pay special attention to the sections on magically augmented photosynthesis. Let me know when you have some time available after supper and we'll go over it together."  
  
Nina nodded and took the parchment, rising to her feet and smoothing her robes. "Thank you," she said haltingly. "You're - you're a very good teacher, Professor Longbottom."  
  
His lopsided grin was genuine. "That's the nicest thing anyone has said to me for a while."   
  
She still was not the vivacious brunette from the beginning of the school year; her eyes still drooped with fatigue and her plait still swung limply as she gathered her schoolbag and left his office. But her back was straight and, Professor Longbottom thought, had perhaps a bit more steel in it than before, and that made all the difference.


End file.
